Unforgotten
by CinamonSwirls
Summary: just a secret santa for a friend This is almost too much to bear. Around this house, your possessions are scattered, and your scent lingers. That stew pot you bought for me a few months ago – remains unused. Oneshot - rated T because I'm paranoid.


_Unforgotten_

This is almost too much to bear. Around this house, your possessions are scattered, and your scent lingers. That stew pot you bought for me a few months ago – remains unused. It seems childish, to be hanging on to the small things – but it feels cruel to let them go. Every passing moment, I hear a voice – your voice – but it does not belong to you. I shouldn't be disappointed that it is my brother I can hear, calling me from the kitchen. I dare not tell him, though, it would hurt him. I know he wonders though, and I know that he has suspicions, but it will remain that way.

Again, I hear your voice, calling me to get up. I don't want to get out of bed – the air in our bedroom smells like you. I conceal myself in my covers, blocking off any offending scents, only to curse myself and throw the covers from the bed. My brother can't see me like this; it's embarrassing. I get dressed in a rush, not bothering to tie up my hair. I wince when I open the draw, to see one of your old shirts beside mine. You never wore anything else; just white shirts.

"_For Chrissake, Alfons, don't you have any other clothes?" _

"_I happen to _like_ white shirts, thank you very much." _

I grab my shirt and thrust the drawer closed, shoving the memory to the back of my mind. I open the door and pad towards the kitchen, rubbing my eyes with my sleeve. The smell of stew wafts through the door and tickles my senses, inviting me in. I open the door, and smile at my brother, standing at the stove; not using your pot.

"Finally, I've been calling you for ages, Nii-san," Al rolls his eyes. That tone of voice, and the facial expressions are so similar to yours – it almost hurts. Sitting at the table, I fiddle with the button on my cuff, planning out my day in my head: eat, study, maybe run some errands, eat then sleep. And then I chuckle to myself; you used to nag me about running errands every day.

"_Please, I am begging you, please go and get some bread from the market?" You whined at me, clasping your hands together, crying with theatrical despair when I shake my head._

"What are you planning to do today?" Al interrupts my trail of thought, placing a bowl before me on the table. I shrug and begin to twirl the spoon in my hand, mumbling a 'thank you' as you pour the food into my bowl. I feel guilty; my brother is only trying his best to make me happy, and all I do is shrug and nod. I can't help it though; I'm not quite over it yet. I don't know if Al has heard me crying. I try not to cry in front of him; it would make him sad. He can't know how pathetic I am being. I've seen death before, and I didn't cry then. The equivalency here was pretty much perfect; a life for a life. If that's how it worked, why couldn't I accept that?

I pick at my food slowly, complimenting my brother shortly on the quality. He is getting better at making stew; but he was never quite as good as you were. I know that Al would be mad if I compared his cooking to yours – he only had two years of being human again to practice. The thick silence between the two of us is straining, and I can see the awkwardness in his eyes as I catch him glancing at me.

Once I've finished my food, I put my bowl in the sink, "I'm going to study for a while," I mumble, smiling as best I can at my brother before departing to the study. I sit at the desk, and pull out an advanced astrology book. I fondle the dog-eared pages until I find the one I had read most recently. As I open the book, several sheets fall onto the desk. Picking them up, I notice the signature – my breath hitches.

This is becoming harder and harder.

I feel my eyes swell and I cushion my head in my hands. A short, choked sob escapes my lip, and I bite back on my lip. The door behind me opens and your voice calls me.

"Nii-san?"

Your voice – his voice – they are too much alike. His mannerisms are almost identical to his, and your facial expressions are exactly the same. I could never look at you without thinking of my brother, and now I can never look at him without thinking of you. My head is beginning to hurt. More sobs escape my lips and I scrunch my eyes tight over the tears.

I shove the papers to one side; I can't stand to see your writing anymore.

* * *

**_So, this was just a little Secret Santa fic for my friend :] Just thought I'd post it up here, to get some helpful critism. Please review with any comments on the writing - if it doesn't make sense PLEASE let me know ^^ _**

**_Love you guys 3 _**


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